


La Mariquita y su Gato

by caibi



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: 19th Century, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Zorro AU, just a tiny bit tho!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:54:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5908885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caibi/pseuds/caibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the early 19th century, Spanish nobles are losing footing in California, and akuma wreak havoc. It's the job of a couple of heroes to keep things together.</p><p>When <i>les chats et les coccinelles</i> become <i>los gatos y las mariquitas</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request from the lovely [whydocowsfall](http://whydocowsfall.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. It was a fantastic idea (based off of the Antonio Banderas versions), and I hope I did it justice.  
> I changed the hero names around a bit (Zorro = fox in Spanish, so I made their alter egos follow that precedent), but left all the civilian names alone bc that just doesn't seem right to change so...sorry there are a bunch of French names in the middle of 19th century California.  
> When they transform, Adrien becomes something of a swashbuckler, clad in all black. Mari wears a layered Spanish dress - think red skirts with black trim.

“Watch where you’re swinging that smallsword!”

Had she been just a few inches taller, she’d be missing a forehead.

“Sorry, _princesa_!” the offender tossed over his shoulder, still running. His blade swung wildly as he hopped from vendor stand to wagon to shop overhang. “I’m in a bit of a rush!”

Marinette patted the top of her head, convinced that she had been jipped of a number of loose strands of hair.

“That cat,” she muttered under her breath “is going to be the death of me.” She ducked back into the bakery, calling for her kwami.

Because of course, wherever that cat goes, danger is sure to follow.

-

“ _Gatito_ , I hope you’ve not claimed anyone’s head, the way you swing that rapier about,” the heroine chastised, calling to her partner not far ahead.

“You wound me, _Mi Querida_. I’ve more skill with a blade than any other this side of the Rio Grande.”

After earning a pointed glare from his counterpart, he added “Except you, of course,” with a sickly sweet smile.

“Damn right,” she responded, pulling out her own smallsword in a flourish. They say El Gato is the drama queen, but La Mariquita has her moments, too.

“So, who are we chasing, exactly?” she prompts.

“A Nobleman-turned-akuma,” Gato explained as they ran. “He’s the Governor’s right hand, actually - er, was, rather. Until the Governor expelled him from the mansion. It’s a long story and we have little time. Let’s just say he got on the Governor’s daughter’s bad side.”

“You mean Chloé.”

“Who else would it be,” said the swordsman, shaking his head. “But yes, anyway, the nobleman is now, quite literally, _La Mano Derecha_ \- The Right Hand Man. He disables people of the use of their right hands. Which is a shame, I suppose, as most people are right-handed.”

“That is, quite possibly, the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” La Mariquita wrinkled her nose. “It’s a good thing I’m left-handed, then,” she smirked.

“Well I’m not, so if he gets me then you’ll most _certainly_ be the best swordsman in California.”

“Just in case you had your doubts before, _Gatito_ ,” she smiled broadly at his tease.

* * *

That battle had been one of the harder ones, Marinette laments. It had only been a month ago, but it seemed an eternity.

She lay flat on her back, sprawled along her bedsheets and bathing in the last rays of daylight seeping through the window.

If she recalls correctly, things had gone smoothly until Gato had been affected by _La Mano_ , rendering his right hand useless. He’d switched his rapier over to his left, drastically decreasing the skill with which he wielded the blade.

Marinette had been caught by the akuma victim, too, but being naturally left-handed, she’d not been affected.

Without proper aid from her partner, the fight lasted hours. La Mano had escaped momentarily to incapacitate the entire staff for the Governor’s household, and had nearly gotten hold of Chloé when the superhero duo caught up.

El Gato discarded his sword in favor of physical kicks and punches (with some help from an aptly timed Lucky Charm), and eventually managed to remove the villain’s brooch. In a swift motion, Marinette cracked it and purified the akuma.

She turns over onto her stomach.

It’s been long since she came to this town, too, she notes.

Marinette and her mother had been living in another town, two days’ ride south, while her father set up shop in this one. He’d decided that this new town offered better opportunity, more customers, more work. A year after he had left them, he sent word for them to come. So they packed and left.

Left the town she had been born in.

The friends she had grown up with.

The memories she had made.

She left the town in which she had first become La Mariquita.

She’d had to explain to her partner that she was leaving. Zorra bade her farewell with a teary hug and a promise that she could manage the town on her own.

That was the worst goodbye. Marinette had wept for hours after parting.

That was six months ago.

Marinette stands, smoothing out her flour-stained skirts and patting down her hair. She’d have to redo the left braid, she realizes. It’d gotten mussed from laying with her head tilted for so long.

She makes her way out to the living room, fingers working at her tresses absentmindedly.

The room is quiet. Her parents must be in the bakery.

She takes a seat by the fire, Tikki zipping from her apron’s pocket and into her lap.

It had taken some time to get used to Gato. He was the town’s resident hero all on his own before she showed up. Marinette knew of him from her father’s letters - he was chivalrous and never failed to appear at the scene of a crime, no matter how trivial the offense. He was even known to distribute money to the poorer citizens in town. Though there was never any hard evidence regarding the money’s origin. Her father had relayed the rumor that circled the masses: Gato would take from the rich Spanish nobles and spread it among the common folk.

Her initial impression of him was benevolent: awed, inspired, wishing that she could be that genuinely altruistic.

But then they’d met.

And he’d been the biggest dork she’d ever encountered.

“La Mariquita, huh?” he’d said. “Well, does Mari _quita_ all of those bad guys?”

She’d pushed him from the roof at that.

(She’d also realized just how unfortunate it was that her real name was so similar to her hero name).

Just thinking about it now, Marinette has the sudden need to clean her ears out with holy water.

“What’s going on in your head, Marinette?” Tikki looks up at her with concern; the girl’s face was scrunched up in distaste.

“Some traumatic memories,” she responds.

Tikki cocks her head, inquiring.

“Bad puns,” Marinette elaborates.

“Ah,” the kwami nods in understanding.

Halfway through redoing her braid, there’s a knock at the door. Tikki immediately climbs back into her charge’s pocket.

“Oh for the love of-” Marinette complains, fingers still tangled in her hair. She stomps over to the door, grumbling under her breath. “...couldn’t have waited two more minutes….teach them to interrupt...save the city every day and this is how they thank me….why I ought to -”

Against her better judgement (and better manners) she continues to braid, leaving her hands occupied. She shoves the door with her hip, kicking it roughly to open it all the way.

“Can I help you?” Marinette demands curtly, blowing loose bangs from her eyes.

She hears a laugh.

“Yes, actually. Is the bakery owner here? Tom Dupain?”

“Papa? Yeah he’s -” she stops.

“You’re...um….you’re -” she stutters, having just seen who was actually in her doorway.

“Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself,” he addresses her, bowing his head. “Adrien, my lady. Adrien Agreste.”

“O-Oh! My lady? I’m no lady! I’m just a daughter’s baker - er- I mean, baker’s daughter! Um, I -” She lets out a sigh, shaking her head clear. “I’m sorry. I just - I didn’t expect a noble to show up at my door? Oh no, that sounded wrong. Er, my name is Marinette.”

Marinette looks at her shoes, regretting all her life choices that led her to this moment.

When she couldn’t see, Adrien grins right up to his ears, eyes crinkling in mirth.

“My father is Tom,” she raises her head, and Adrien’s expression drops back to its default geniality. “He’s in the bakery, just adjacent. Would you like me to get him for you?”

“No, no. You look capable, so maybe I could leave this request with you?”

“Uh, me? Sure, if you’d prefer.”

“My father is throwing a party in three days, and he’d like a number of sweets and baked goods for the occasion. I have a list here,” he says, handing a folded note.

Marinette moves to grab the list, only to realize that she has been rather...occupied. Her fingers remain tangled in her hair, still separating it into three parts halfway down her head. “Oh! Um…” She flushes, pulling her right hand free, unintentionally uncoiling the braid in the process.

“I’m really sorry,” she looks away, taking the note. “I’m not usually this much of a, um, mess?”

“No worries, my lady,” Adrien smiles warmly at her.

“I’m not a lady!” she exclaims indignantly.

“Well, of course you are,” he states. “I think so, anyway. Why do we reserve titles to those of wealth or of a certain status? You’re as much a lady as the governor’s daughter - in fact I think you might be even more fitting for such a title.”

“That’s easy for you to say, _my lord_ , as you actually do belong to wealth.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Marinette seems to realize what she’d said.

“Oh! I am so, so sorry,” she scrambles, tucking the loose tufts of hair behind her left ear. “I obviously don’t know my manners. I shouldn’t be speaking to you like -”

“No, please. Don’t apologize,” he cuts her off. “It’s refreshing to be addressed so casually. So really, I should be thanking you.”

“But -”

“I’m serious,” Adrien laughs. “Well, Marinette, it was nice meeting you. But I’m afraid I’d better be off. I have to speak to the tailor about party clothes.”

Adrien looks positively bored at the mention of more errands. Marinette lets herself chuckle.

“It was nice meeting you, sir.”

“Just Adrien will suffice. Titles don’t really do anything for me,” he winks. “I hope you’ll come with your father to the house when he drops off the baked goods.”

“I’ll try, _Adrien_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any historical inaccuracies or errors in my Spanish (it's been a while since I've had to speak it). If you find any, please point them out so I can fix it!  
> Also - a nod to the actual Zorro in this, except it was "Zorra," based off of Volpina. So yeah! Mari and Volpina/Zorra fought together before she moved to the town where Adrien/Gato is located.  
> Double bonus because Ladybug in Spanish is Mariquita, which has "Mari" in it. I think that's pretty neat.  
> And about that pun: "Quita" means "remove." That pun was really, truly terrible and I'm sorry  
> I meant to upload this yesterday but there was a bat in my dorm. If you want the full story, it's on [my tumblr](http://caibii.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That's easy for you to say" Version 2.0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added a tiny bit of angst. I hate writing angst so there's only a lil bit. Chloé's here so that's always fun. A bit of Adrienette and Marichat action this time.  
> Please look at this [awesome art](http://whydocowsfall.tumblr.com/post/139684334011/i-drew-fanart-of-caibiis-miraculous-ladybug) by my co-creator of this au, whydocowsfall. It's awesome and exactly how I would imagine Mariquita and Gato to look! Please check it out B)

“Are you staying for the party?”

“ _¡Ay Dios -!_ ” All of a sudden, Marinette finds herself on the ground. She shakes her head and blinks up at the person that had scared the living daylights out of her. “A-Adrien! Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? You’re the one on the ground, _señorita_ ,” he extends a hand to her, and she takes it, hoisting herself up.

“Oh yeah, you’re right. You scared me, you jerk,” Marinette cocks her hip to the side and crosses her arms.

“You know when I told you to be more casual with me, I didn’t mean to be this blatantly rude,” Adrien’s attempt at disdain is ruined by his teasing grin.

“Hey, you asked, and I delivered. You either get super formal Marinette, or ‘Marinette: Unfiltered.’ There is no in between, _sir_.”

“I guess I’d better take what I can get, then,” he shakes his head. “I was going to ask if you were okay, but if your sense of humor is here then we’ve probably got nothing to worry about.”

“Well, for the record, I’m fine. I’ve been through worse, believe me.”

“Alright there, Macho Marinette.”

She laughs. “I’m just clumsy.”

“Somehow I believe that,” he watches as she pats the dirt from her skirts. “Anyway, back to the question at hand. Are you staying for the party?”

Marinette sighs. “What do you think the answer to that is? I’m no noble, Adrien. I’m just here on delivery.”

“I can see that,” he jerks his thumb to the table behind him, dozens of sweet rolls and small cakes piled neatly. “Doesn’t mean you can’t stay, though. My father _is_ hosting this, you know. I don’t think he’d really notice, or even care, if I had an extra friend here.”

“Adrien.”

He snaps his head up at her sudden cold tone.

“I know you told me to be more casual with you, but I think there still has to be a level of respect built between us. And it should be a little more one-sided, if we’re going with tradition here. You’re a noble and I’m not, and that’s just how it is.”

“Marinette -”

“Don’t get me wrong, Adrien. I’d really love to be your friend. And there’s no reason we can’t be civil or jovial when we see each other. But I’m not sure if this is right. If I...necessarily... _belong_ here. With all these...rich people.”

Marinette picks at the hem of her apron.

“What do you mean, Marinette? Money or status don’t determine worth. You’ve as much right to be here as -”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Marinette echoes her assertion from just a few days prior. “And anyway, I’m not comfortable here. The mayor’s daughter has been glaring at me since you’ve helped me up, and….I’m just not….”

Adrien takes her hand.

“I’m just not comfortable,” she repeats, looking down.

She pulls her hand away and looks him in the eye. “I like your suit. You look very nice.”

Marinette takes a moment to adjust the rose at his lapel. “I’ll see you sometime, yeah?”

Adrien feels like he’s choking on desert sand. “....Yeah. Sure.”

Marinette smiles, trying her best not to look sad. And walks away.

 

“You there! Baker’s girl,” Marinette turns, caught off guard. She identifies the source of the voice - a purse-lipped blonde girl swimming in the folds of her yellow dress - and points to herself, inquiring. "Yes, you!”

The mayor’s daughter _clack clack clacks_ across the cobblestone courtyard, making her way

to Marinette and shoving a finger at her collar.

“Just _what_ ,” Chloé spits “are you doing with Adrien?”

“I have no idea what you mean, my lady,” Marinette responds. “I’m running a delivery for his father. We simply struck up a conversation. Now if you’ll excuse -”

“You will _not_ just walk away, baker’s girl -”

“My name is Marinette.”

Chloé ignores her comment and continues. “I know you were flirting with him, but let’s get one thing straight. Adrien loves me, and I love him. He has no interest in a villager like you.”

Marinette crosses her arms and cocks her hip. Her eyebrow is threatening to ascend beyond her hairline.

“Ohhh, you’re so right, my lady! I was, in fact, flirting with him. How could I have been so stupid as to think I could fool you?” Marinette drawls. “You know, I’d better get back to my father’s wagon to retrieve the rest of the pastries - I’m sure I could woo the young lord with these!”

She spares no second glance at the mayor’s daughter, stepping around her and back to the wagon at the base of the hill.

Chloé lets out a noise like a kettle that’s just begun to boil. “Sabrina!!”

“Yes, Chloé?”

“We’ve got some...pest control to deal with.”

 

It was, perhaps, the worst timing.

The party had barely begun, and already some of the guests were intoxicated - they’d taken swigs from a flask before coming, Adrien assumed.

In any case, one butler had had enough of the obnoxious treatment; he’d had three drinks spilled on him and suffered a dozen unfounded scoldings. He reemerged from the kitchens with a mask and a dark personality. He’d been akumatized.

In an instant, Gato pounced into action.

  


_Too late._

He was too late.

 _El Mayordomo_ had wreaked his havoc and spontaneously left the mansion grounds without warning.

Gato hadn’t had the opportunity to track him.

He surveys the property now, trying to keep all the guests under control, containing the damage and repressing the panic. A good majority of the nobles remain huddled in the foyer, still too shaken to return to the garden. The unfortunate victims of El Mayordomo’s wrath had been doused in red wine and left to dry in the dying sunlight. It’s quite a sight, Gato thinks, to see all the pretty, frilly dresses and fresh-pressed suits to be blotted with a deep purple.

The back courtyard, he notices, had barely been affected. He sees Chloé and her friend, Sabrina, sneaking off into the house. He notes the coarse giggle escaping the Lady’s throat.

“- can’t believe my luck!” he hears someone exclaim. It’s coming from somewhere on his right. “I thought I was supposed to have good fortune but nooooo I just had to be -”

“Princesa?” Gato locates the source of the voice.

“G-Gato! Um, what are you doing here? Is there a villain?”

“I don’t exactly find that quite as pertinent as your predicament, Princesa,” he rationalizes. “You’re the one sitting drenched in the middle of the fountain.”

“Oh, really, wow. I guess I hadn’t noticed I was in here,” Marinette says sweetly. An untrained ear wouldn’t have noticed the sarcasm hidden in her tone. “Guess I thought I needed a dip.”

He raises a brow at her.

“Really! It’s nice in here!” she crosses her arms hastily, sending a plume of water everywhere.

“Really?” Gato says, wiping water from his face. “Because it feels pretty cold to me.”

Marinette wilts. “Fine, fine. You got me. Miss Lemon-Yellow-Fashion-Disaster over there arranged a little...something for me because I was a bit too blunt with her. Guess I have a penchant for a lack of self control around the wealthy,” she laughs dryly. “Nothing I can’t handle, though, so you go back to fighting crime or whatever and I’ll pull myself out of this mess.”

“Are you serious? I can’t just leave you -”

“Wait, shhh!” Marinette cuts him off. “My dad is approaching. You can’t let him know I’m here, he’ll kill me if he knew I angered the mayor’s daughter.”

She slinks behind the rim of the fountain. Gato turns to face the house, from where a large, burly man is approaching. He blocks Marinette from the man’s view.

“Gato!” Tom exclaims at the sight of the hero. He speeds toward him, a worried expression etched on his aging features. “I just came up to the house and was met with an awful sight! Have you seen _mi hija_? She’s about this tall -” he holds his hand up to Marinette’s approximate height “- and has dark hair. In braids. Is she okay?”

“ _Señor_. She is fine. I found her not long ago.”

“O-Oh thank goodness!” Tom breathes a sigh of relief. “What is she doing?”

“ _Nada_.”

Gato hears a splutter behind him.

“I’ve sent her inside the mansion for now,” he continues. “She’s safe there. I’ll send her home when the coast is clear. I suggest you stay inside, too.”

“Ah, no. I can’t stay. I’m glad Marinette is well, but I really must make sure my wife is safe.”

“I understand,” Gato responds, sending Tom on his way.

As soon as he has left, Marinette stands.

“Was that a pun?!” she exclaims.

“What ever do you mean, _Princesa_?” He inquires, a smirk finding its natural place on his lips.

“I’m talking about ‘Nada!’” she smacks her head to her forehead. “You know, I don’t even know why I bother…”

“You appreciate my jokes even less than Mariquita, if that’s even possible,” Gato ponders.

“Oh, it’s possible. Trust me,” she asserts. “Now, shouldn’t you be saving the town?”

“I will,” he assures her. “But first…”

Gato puts an arm around Marinette’s shoulders, and hooks the other beneath her knees, pulling her soaked body up to his chest.

“Woah woah woah, what the -?”

“Less talk, more cooperation. Hold on, I’m taking you upstairs.”

“Princess style, Gato? Is this a visual pun? I don’t apprecia- waaAAAA!”

“That shut you right up.” Gato smiles, jumping up from the ground to the second floor balcony, then to the third. “I told you to hold tight, _Princesa_.”

 

Marinette finds herself on the softest bed she’s ever felt.

She sinks into the folds of silk beneath her and expresses her worries to Gato that she’ll ruin them if she’s sopping wet.

He tells her not to worry, the family that owns this house has plenty of money to replace them if need be.

Supposing it’s too late to do anything about it - it’s where Gato had put her down, anyway - she remains in place.

And then she stares.

Stares at the curtains, an ivory lace with intricate detailing.

Stares at the wardrobe, the vanity, the desk, dark wood all carved ornately and expertly.

Stares at the floor, the wall, the paintings, the -

Marinette is overwhelmed.

A single pillow could probably buy out her parents’ bakery.

“What’s wrong, _Princesa_?” Gato steps over, towels in hand. She hadn’t noticed him retrieve them, caught up in her daze.

“Nothing, nothing,” Marinette makes an effort to relax her brow, to unfurl her shoulders. “But, I mean, this is more luxury than I’ve ever seen all cooped up in one place.”

Gato’s face sours. “Yeah. This is just one of the guest rooms, I’d assume. So it never gets any use. It’s sad, really. Empty.”

He goes silent.

“Gato?” Marinette reaches for his hand. “Is something -?”

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” he smiles. “Here, I’m not being much help.” He hands her a towel, letting her dry her arms, her torso, her legs. Gato uses the extra to pat her hair dry.

“I appreciate the help, but I think I can handle the rest on my own,” Marinette says. “Don’t you have a rogue villain to go after?”

“Ah, Mariquita’s probably got it handled by now. She’s very good at her job.”

“And so are you, Gato. She probably needs you. Heck, what if she’s not even there?”

“I doubt that’s the case,” he sighs.”But I guess you’re right. I’d better get out there and do what I can.”

“Good,” Marinette beams up at him. He returns the smile.

“I’ll be back here later to get you some new clothes and bring you home,” he tells her, standing in the window frame. “Stay there, I won’t be long.”

“Okay.”

As soon as he was out the window, Tikki forces her way out of the soaked apron pocket.

“Ah, Tikki! I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Marinette. But it looks like we’ve got work to do.”

“Right!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some translation notes: first, I suck.  
> Second: Mayordomo means butler.  
> Third: about the pun. Gato says "nada" when tom asks what mari's doing. nada means "nothing" but it can also mean "she swims," so all in all it's just a terrible combo.  
> Anyway!! Sorry for late update. I had midterms and then I got sick. Expect more marichat next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and marichat. That's about it

“¡ _Bien hecho_!”

Their fists meet amidst the flurry of rectification; the cleansing light is still working its way through _El Mayordomo_ ’s destructive warpath.

Gato glances at the nearly sleeping form of the akuma victim just a few feet away.

“ _El Mayordomo_ ?” He smirks. “More like _Mayor Duerme_ , am I right?”

“Gatito, that’s….that’s horrible oh my _god_. It’s - It’s not even close to being a good pun I’m…” Mariquita holds her head in her hands. “You’re lucky that you’re good at your job.” She jabs a finger at his chest.

“I thought _you_ were supposed to be the lucky one,” Gato tilts his head and grins.

“You know what? I just remembered, I have somewhere to be. Right now,” Mariquita dismisses. “Take care of that poor butler, would you? The man’s been through enough already.”

Just as Gato opens his mouth to say something else, Mariquita cuts him off. “And yes, he looks like he needs more sleep but would you please not make any more jokes about it?”

“Of course, _mi Querida_ ,” he chuckles.

She knows him too well.

 

Marinette makes it back, breathless.

The Agreste mansion is emptier than she’d first thought. She thinks it might just be that Gato isn’t here to keep her company. Not just yet.

He said he’d come, right?

That was her whole reason for returning. She left Gato to his own devices after the akuma fight so she’d have a head start on him - she’d be back to the mansion and detransform, and he’d never know she left. All she has to do now is sit and -

“Your clothes are dry.”

Marinette jumps three feet into the air.

“G-G-Gato!!” She slaps her hand to her chest, as if that will stop her heart from trying to make a break for it. “You scared me!”

“You seem to get startled often,” he laughs.

“Hm? Often? Well yeah, but that’s the first time I -”

Gato’s eyes widen the tiniest bit, and he backtracks. “Well, I just assumed. A-Anyway, I brought you some new clothes, but yours already look….well...dry enough.”

“You’re right,” Marinette says, rubbing the fabric of her skirts between her fingers. “You’ve been gone kind of long, you know. Long enough for me to dry, at any rate. Did you get too caught up in the heat of battle? Lose track of time?” She teases. She knows full well that the battle hadn’t actually lasted excessively long, and that it was Tikki’s transformation that dried her dress the instant she’d reverted to her civilian form.

“I guess so,” Gato smiles at her. “I mean, I did have to bring a butler back to his quarters, and it turns out he’s a lot heavier than he looks. But yeah, being out there is just so, I don’t know, freeing?”

“Mm.” Marinette hums her understanding.

“It’s great being out there, doing something, you know? It’s hard, for sure, but when you’ve got a great partner with you, you can’t complain.”

Marinette turns away to hide her smile. “I’d love to hear more about your adventures, Gato, but I think my father might be worried about me. I’d better get going.”

“Alright, _princesa_ ,” he says. “At least take this jacket though. The sun started to set not long ago, and it’ll be cold out.”

She considers the garment being extended toward her, wondering if she really should take it. Gato seems to see the debate written all over her face.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, _princesa_ , just take it,” he moves behind her and slips it over her shoulders. “It’s mine, after all.”

She looks back at him, questions swimming in her eyes.

“I outgrew it,” Gato shrugs. “Thought it’d fit you. Looks like I was right.”

“Are you calling me small?” Marinette huffs.

“Noooo of course not. Wherever would you get that idea?” And in one swift movement, she’s scooped up in his arms, victim to the princess-style hold once again.

She hadn’t expected it, but she accepts her fate. She knows him well enough, at this point, to expect spontaneity in all its forms. So Marinette lets her partner carry her out the window without objection.

“So,” he says. “Where do you live?”

  


“That’s a lot of _pan, princesa_.”

“You’re a _pan_ in my neck, Gato.”

He reels back in mock offense. “And you tell me that _my_ puns are bad.” He side eyes her, smiling, and corrects: “Or should I say my _pans_.”

“Oh my god,” Marinette would slap her head if she weren’t holding so much in her hands. “You know,” She says over her shoulder. “I didn’t think it was possible for them to get any worse. Seems I was wrong.”

“ _Princesa_ , you wound me!” He drawls.

“Let me put all these trays down so I can come over there and slap you.”

Knowing that she wouldn’t, Gato only laughs, hopping onto the counter and swinging his legs. He’s gotten to know her well enough in the week since the butler incident, the night he’d brought her home. For reasons that he suspects Marinette cannot quite comprehend, Gato has made it a point to visit her regularly.

He watches as she carries trays upon trays of bread - pans of _pans_ , he relentlessly jokes - from the back counters to the front displays.

They’re alone in the bakery; Marinette’s parents were on delivery and she’s in charge of the shop for the time being. But it’s getting close to sundown, and the rest of the villagers are settling in for the evening. There isn’t another soul to be seen.

A warm orange light leaks through the windows, saturating the room in the glow of dying sun. Gato lets his shoulders drop, easing himself of the tension he hadn’t known he was holding. Eyebrows unfurl themselves and the corners of lips tilt up. A pair of green eyes resign themselves to watching.

Simply watching.

They watch the dust float through the air. They could count each individual speck, the way they caught the light and reflected it back.

They watch the tousle of curtains, wisping away at the beck and call of the breeze which blows them.

They watch the wobble of trays, piled upon the shoulder of a baker’s daughter. The swaying is never any more than a few degrees - the pans were handled with an expert’s care.

They watch the baker’s daughter herself. Her hair falls into her eyes and she shakes it out with a scowl. Her nose wrinkles when it drops back into her face. She nudges the case open with her hip and opens it the rest of the way with a foot.

“If you’re just going to perch on the counter like you’re domesticated,” Marinette huffs from the dessert case, breaking the silence “You can at least help me unload all this bread.”

“I was going to offer,” he calls “But it looked like you had it handled.”

He hears a soft “pfft” from where she’s stooped in a crouch.

“That may be true, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to grab those remaining trays for me.”

She turns her head and points to the stacks of bread beside the wood stove. “Specifically, those trays.”

“Fine, fine. Whatever you say, _princesa_.”

Gato slips himself from the counter and makes his way to the bread loaves - three stacks to be exact. He struggles for a moment to find an angle at which he could lower the trays from the counter, awkwardly shuffling them around, locking his elbows in an effort to lift. Eventually he settles on kneeling, sliding them onto his shoulder as Marinette had done a few minutes earlier.

“Oh my -” Gato staggers. “How in the world do you do this? They’re so heavy! Agh -”

He shuffles forward, overly aware of every small movement. It takes him entirely too long just to make it five paces worth of space.

Marinette looks back at him and laughs. “Need help there?”

“No!” He exclaims. “No, I’ve got it. I think…”

She chuckles, then returns her attention to the case. “Well, if you drop one you’ll have to pay for it.”

“I-I won’t drop it! Have more faith in me, _princesa_.”

“Okay, okay.”

Finally, he manages to set the pans down next to her. He slumps on the ground and sighs.

“How do you do this all the time? You must have some kind of superpowers or something. You were carrying at least five trays earlier!”

“Aw, poor little cat,” Marinette reaches over to pat his head. “I don’t have superpowers, unlike someone else in this room. Just a lot of practice.”

“Well, okay,” he said. “You still must be incredibly strong. I would not like to be the one to steal your change purse and face your wrath.”

“Damn right.”

 

“Gato,” she says, weeks later.

“Hm?”

It’s nearly midnight. She sits, sewing some of her old clothes - something she really liked to do, Gato discovered not long ago. In a perfect world, she’d told him, she’d make the beautiful Spanish ball gowns that she saw coming off the boats from Europe. She’d design them and put them together. She’d wear them, make them for others, give them her personal flair.

In a perfect world, anyway.

“Why do you keep coming?”

“I’ve already told you, princesa. You’re interesting, fun to be around.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she confirms, pulling a needle through one of her aprons. “But really. That can’t be it. I’m sure you have other friends. Friends outside of the mask. You can only visit me in secret. In the cover of night or the privacy of my own home are the only places that this friendship actually works.”

He lowers his head. “I could -”

“No, you won’t reveal yourself to me. That’s a very spur-of-the-moment thing to do for a potentially life-changing decision.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he sighs.

“Mm.” Marinette glances back at him, legs folded underneath him on her bed. A jacket is draped over her shoulders. His jacket. “But you haven’t answered my question.”

“Ah, that…” Gato ponders.

How do you tell your friend that she’s one of his only companions? How do you tell her that he’s there, covered in the dark clothing of a swashbuckling hero (cape and all) because she would reject him outside of the costume? How do you tell her that it’s easier to maintain a friendship between a baker’s daughter and a superhero than it is between a villager and a noble?

How does Adrien Agreste tell this girl that she’s the only one to treat him so casually, and that he was willing to put on a mask just to keep that normalcy from slipping?

Marinette had been so open with him when they’d first met. After some warming up, she’d acted like she didn’t care about his social status; that is, until it really did matter.

Until she decided it wasn’t her place to associate with a noble. Or for a noble to associate with her.

He didn’t want to lose that.

So when they met once again, this time while he was behind a mask, he’d seized the opportunity to get closer to her.

And, he supposes, that was rather selfish of him.

“I guess you could say that I was lonely,” he admits. “And that you provided company when I had none. Sorry, that’s probably selfish of me.”

There’s a pause. His answer is genuine, but it’s missing parts of the truth. Gato hopes she doesn’t question him further.

“No,” she responds. “That’s what friends are for, I think. We like having them around to keep us company, make us feel better - even if it _is_ selfish. I think everyone’s like that, to some extent. I like to think I understand you, Gato. It’s nice to have someone around who relates to you. So I understand, now, why you keep visiting.”

He looks at her, relief flooding his features.

 _And since I understand you_ , Marinette thinks to herself, _maybe someday you’ll be able to tell me the_ real _reason why I’m the one you come to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations and puns: "Bien hecho" = well done  
> mayordomo was the akuma victim from last chapter. once he's been saved, he falls asleep. gato calls him "mayor duerme" which loosely translates to "more/better sleep"  
> there are a few really bad "pan" puns. "pan" means bread. mari says gato is a "pan in her neck" and gato is offended that his "puns/pans are bad." there are also "pans of pan."  
> in other words i'm terrible at bilingual puns. sue me.  
> this chapter i've been trying to fix my style a bit. i rely heavily on dialogue to tell a story bc i find that it's the most fun thing to write, so i've been working more on narrative. i've had people tell me that they prefer action to dialogue, and others have said they prefer it the other way around. i've been trying to find a balance.  
> next chap will start the beginning of the end


End file.
